Tallyho and Away We Go!
by Maidenhair
Summary: The sub title for this is Why Erik Should NEVER get Drunk. Sort of explains itself, eh? Be nice please! Chapter 2 is here. Ta-ta!
1. In Which Erik Has Five Bottles of Claret

**Tally-ho and Away We Go! **

**Or**

**Why Erik Should Never Get Drunk**

**Disclaimer: I will not, can not, should not, shall not, own POTO, Les Miserables, or Incognito Mosquito (but one day I WILL own a butterfly net! And… well let's just say it won't be pretty! Insert crazed laughter here.)**

It was not as if Erik had drunk too much. No, not at all! HE didn't drink five bottles of wine, (1532 claret, Sicily,) in one sitting. No! Of course not! Well…. Alright! Can't the poor fellow make _one little mistake? _Heh, heh, heh. Evidently not.

Erik tipped the last of the bottled high as he could and drained it of the priceless liquid. A big smile spread across his distorted face. It was a rarity for him to smile, and it was usually when he was drunk. He sighed, hiccupped, and laughed to himself. After that, he proceeded to amuse himself by stretching his emaciated limbs into bizarre contortions.

"I think," Erik laughed, slurring his speech most terribly, "therefore I am. Ph, ph, philo… it means love. Philo-christineitis. Blah, blah, blah. Hic."

He staggered to his feet, bumping a few irreplaceable antiques onto the floor where they invariably shattered into oblivion. "Darn mess." Erik grumbled, "I'll, I'll fire… the maid! Bang! Bang! Fire… and brimstone! Hahahahahaha! The… END is near! And they… all lived happily…. ever after, the… end!"

He stumbled along the hallway towards the room that he saved for Christine's use, (although she never paid for it.) Along the way he managed to kick over a vase, (Ming dynasty, priceless, wanted as a historical artifact,) which also smashed.

"S, stup, stupid, fragile material." He muttered sourly, "Oh, Aysha!"

Aysha, (a breading cat of the Siamese variety, and a pure bread,) was sitting in the arms of a Grecian nude that was (for some un-tasteful reason was mussing a leg and a head). The cat looked at Erik in distaste.

"Well, look at yourself!" Aysha thought, "Slobbering drunk. I feel ashamed to say I own you!"

"Here, kitty-kitty!" Erik burbled, "I want to play with you. We will play… chess! Chessssssssss."

"Cats don't play chess. We don't have thumbs." Aysha thought.

"Come here!" Erik commanded, slumping into a chair and muttering "I think, therefore I am" again and again.

"Hmmm, you don't seem to be thinking." Aysha thought, "Does that mean you don't exist?" She drew her claws and slashed the small corner of his skin that was exposed between his pant leg and his sock.

"&&(!" Erik screamed, "Bad! Cat! Badcatbadcatbadcat!"

"I was simply carrying out a psychology experiment." Aysha thought.

"Now for punishipt." Erik snapped. He lifted the poor, defencless cat in his arm, (a part of the anatomy that it connected to the shoulder,) and carried her into his library.

"I will read you _Webster's 9th Grade English!_" Erik laughed maliciously.

"Nooooooooo!" Aysha meowed.

Erik searched drunkenly, (a word which hear means in a drunken state.) However, he did not run upon the book.

Aysha smiled. He would NEVER find it! She had buried it under three tons of garbage that had somehow accumulated in one of Erik's unused trapdoors.

"Fine. I'll, hic, just read you THIS!" Erik produced a small book with a knight on the cover. The title read –oh horror!- _The Song of Roland_!

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Aysha pleaded.

"Yes! Oui! Yes!" Erik insisted. He began reading a low monotone that only added to the terrible ennui of the book.

Aysha began to gnaw on the electric tape that bound her to a bench. She decided once and for all to evacuate the vicinity.

The unfortunate feline was saved, however, by the ringing of the siren.

"The siren!" Erik screamed, "Quick! Bind the captain to the mast and fill your ears with wax! Wait! Wait a half a darned moment! I'M the siren! Come, oh ships, and die! Die! Hahahahaha!"

"Answer the bell, you dolt!" Aysha growled.

"Coming, my dear! Soup's on!" Erik giggled, staggering toward his lasso. "This is a MURDER! Call the police! Call inspector Javert! Call Incognito Mosquito!" He swiped his hands in the air for a moment in an attempt to grasp the rope. "It, it's MOVING! SSSSSSSSSSSNNNNNNAAAAAAAKKKKKKEEEEEEE!"

He grasped a priceless Aztec dagger and slashed at the "snake". He missed his mark terribly and drove the weapon up to the hilt through one of his rare DaVinci's and into the wall.

"He's lost it!" Aysha sighed, "He has soooo lost it!"

Erik decided against the lasso and the knife and took a gun, (an authentic western pistol belonging to Jesse James,) and prepared to jump in the lake.

"Tally-ho and away we go!" Erik laughed.

**Well, how is it? Should I write the other chapters or kill the story in cold blood. (Call me Maidenhair the -fic- ripper.)**


	2. In Which Daroga is Called Names

**Chapter two, In Which Daroga in Called Names and Erik Has Fashion Problems**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cyrano, The princess bride, Joseph, or Narnia. **

**Author's note: If you like Incognito Mosquito, please review! I LOVE IT! **

Erik leapt clumsily into the grimy lake-waters, (a pool of water made up of rain-drainage and raw sewage,) and began his traditional "snorkeling". He approached the black shape of the boat, (a beautiful Romanian gondola made of pure ebony,) and he pulled himself onto the prow.

"Gah! Erik!" Daroga cried, almost falling out of the dangerously swaying boat.

"You!" Erik snarled, "What the Hl are you doing here you stupid, ugly, fat, nomad!"

"Erik?" Daroga asked. His friend/enemy was acting strange. Oh, he was ALWAYS a bit of a bear, but never before had he been so immature as to resort to kindergarten name calling!

"My name… is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" Erik laughed, pulling his pistol from his coat pocket. He aimed at Daroga's head and pulled the trigger. As you might have guessed, nothing happened. A gun can not work if the powder is wet.

"Your name is what?" asked the befuddled Persian.

"Um… I forgot. Oh! I'm Count Olaf." Erik replied. He pulled his emaciated frame into the boat and slumped into a rag-doll pose.

"Hmmmm." Daroga rubbed his chin. He leaned close to Erik's face and sniffed. "Bleah!" He almost vomited. The stench of alcohol was nearly unbearable.

"What was that for?" Erik demanded.

"YOU'VE been DRINKING!" Daroga accused.

"You were sticking you Cyrano proboscis in my personal space! I'm telling!"

"Telling what?" Daroga asked.

"Mmmmmmmoooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm!" Erik cried.

"Erik, man!" Daroga shouted, slapping the drunk a few times in the face, "Put yourself together!"

"GET OFF OF MY BOAT!" Erik screamed, shoving the poor Persian into the water.

"Erik!"

"I need towels! I'm cold and wet and chilled and damp and cold and wet and wet and cold and…" Erik continued like that as he paddled toward his home.

"I NEED TOWERELS!" He thundered.

"Shut up and get them yourself, big boy." Aysha meowed.

Erik staggered about and finally fell on top of a collection of rare, medieval tapestries, (estimated value 90000000000000007712837137671371573575765.99, the last final clue to unraveling the mystery of King Author.) "TOWERELS!" Erik squealed.

If you have never seen a yellow skinned, emaciated, overly tall man wrapped in ancient tapestries and dripping with dirty water don't go and try to find one. It's not a pretty site!

"Ok, now I go and visit my Christine!" Erik sang, "Hmmm, but something seems to be missing…."

"Your clothes you idiot!" Aysha yelled. She new that it was against cat code to speak human, (it might ruin their plan of taking over the world and enslaving all mankind,) however she LIKED Erik and could not let him do something so stupid as go to see his lady love in his underpants and an antique.

"Oh! Clotherings!" Erik burbled. He wandered toward his wardrobe, (rosewood, Elizabethan import.) "Narnia." He laughed as he opened the doors.

He rapidity began to throw various spiffy outfits onto the floor. "No, no, no." he said at each. "Ah-ha!" he finally cried. He pulled out his Red Death, (a character from Edgar Allen Poe,) pants. He slipped into them and admired himself. "How do I look, Aysha?"

"Great." The cat answered sarcastically, "The sequins on the sides really compete the whole high-school band effect."

Erik then pulled out a shirt made entirely of lace frills, "Raoul shirt." He laughed, putting it on.

He still could have saved the outfit had he tried. There was a snazzy Matrix coat that went well with everything. But, alas! Erik choose a neon coat instead of a Neo one! He chose a bight blue, Asian styled, peacock covered robed. "Joseph!" he cried, "Now I can go see Christine!"

"Looser." Aysha sniffed.


End file.
